


Ashes

by Dream_Wreaver



Series: Haunted [2]
Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: F/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-02 22:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_Wreaver/pseuds/Dream_Wreaver
Summary: Sequel to Haunted. When he awakens he is confused, for while he has been trapped, frozen in time time has not stopped, and the world has moved on without him. Where does he belong now?





	Ashes

**Author's Note:**

> This went in a different direction than I had expected when I began writing it, but I feel this is the stronger version anyways. Many thanks to Deliverer for their help with this story, please, go check out their work on Fanfiction.net

He stumbled about, unused to moving his limbs after so long. Come to think of it, how long _had_ it been? Things had changed. He didn’t have his bearings like he used to. Think man think, where had he last been? Surely that’s where he was now. One word registered, Japan. He was in Japan. And if he remembered correctly, there was certainly a place of civilization where he could figure out what was going on. He felt it, pulling him towards something. Was it his destiny? Who knew?

He arrived at a mountain. It seemed so familiar to him. The pull said to climb, so he did. He arrived at what looked to be a monastery, one stuck in the past. Traditional roofs and building structure. An open courtyard. The feeling of Deja-vu struck him. He’d been here before, he was sure of it.

Something triggered a warning, old instincts kicking in almost instantly and he leapt away just in time to see a weapon strike the spot where he’d been standing just seconds before. Someone knew he was here and thought he was an intruder. Perhaps to them, he was. He didn’t exactly belong after all. Now, where was his adversary… there! He launched an attack of his own, but it was blocked. A fist came his way, he blocked. On and on this went throwing and blocking attacks. Until he fell out of the shadows and into the pale light of the setting full moon.

The ninja too stepped out into the light, surprised eyes the only indication of their expression.

“Monkey Fist?” the voice exclaimed, soft, feminine, and familiar.

He peered at the woman, “Do I know you?” he asked.

The ninja didn’t reply, too busy talking to herself, “No, this… this cannot be. You were, I saw… It is, impossible.”

“Care to fill me in?” Monkey Fist inquired, “I seem to be missing few years here and there.”

as though just remembering he was there the ninja doffed her hood. A fully grown, beautiful woman stared back at him. with almond eyes, and lustrous black hair. She seemed so familiar… Wait, the ninja girl who aided that buffoon of a nemesis of his. What was her name again? Ah yes, Yori.

“Yori?” he questioned. The last time he had seen her she had still had all the promise of youth, the naiveté, the softness that life was almost certain to scour away. But now, the grace of youth had blossomed into wise and powerful maturity. Her expression turned bittersweet at the mention of her name.

“I am,” she paused, “honored you still remember my name Monkey Fist,” was her reply, “But tell me, how are you free?”

“Free?” he repeated, “Is there any reason why I shouldn’t be?”

“You became a disciple of the Yono the last I had met you. When you were defeated by the Han you were turned into stone and sunk, with the rest of the Yono’s dark temple, into the sands, never to be seen again.”

Ah yes, _now_ he remembered. Bested by an infant, related to Stoppable. How utterly humiliating.

“Well, I suppose that’s all in the past now,” he allowed, “I am by some act of grace, free again. However I couldn’t seem to remember where I was. Now that I know, if you have a phone or could direct me to a place that has one, I’ll ring up home and be out of your hair, at least until I find you have something I want again.”

Yori’s face fell further, if that was even possible, “My lord, you are…” she stopped, searching for the right words, “Unaware of how much time has passed, aren’t you?”

Monkey Fist _had_ noticed she looked older, but not by much. Then again, wasn’t the rumor that Asian women aged extremely well? She couldn’t possibly be that much older though. Still,

“How old are you?” he asked. The last time he had seen her she couldn’t have been more than nineteen. As it was she barely looked twenty-two.

“Monkey Fist please,” she asked him not to.

“How old are you?” he pressed.

“I am, nearing thirty,” Yori admitted.

“How near?”

“I am twenty-nine,” she told him, watching with trepidation as she saw the realization sink into his features.

“Ten years,” he breathed. He almost felt faint, “Ten years?”

She bowed low, “I am sorry.”

“What has happened?” his voice was calm, utterly juxtaposed by the panic he likely felt inside.

“No one has ever escaped the path of the Yono,” she reminded him, “When five years passed we thought it best to perhaps, stage an accident to explain why you would no longer return.”

“My family,”

“Thinks you are dead, if they have not yet died themselves.”

“My castle?”

“Donated to a historical society for preservation.”

“My manuscripts and scrolls?”

“Yamanouchi agents in the area found and cleared out your sanctum before anyone could stumble upon it. They have been moved elsewhere for safekeeping.”

“My monkey ninjas?”

“Dispersed to local zoos, where they remain if they are still living.”

His face fell, “And no one came looking for me?” he asked, thinking of Drakken, Hench, other villains he might have owed a debt to at some point. Hell, DNAmy should have come looking for him.

“No,” she replied, “The only ones who knew where you were, were Stoppable-san, the Han, and I.”

“Then…” he thought for a good while, “I am left with nothing.”

Yori bowed again, “I apologize,” she repeated, “But Sensei felt this was the best course of action to take at the time.”

There was silence between them as Monkey Fist took in the now familiar surroundings of the secret ninja school. He was surprised that Yori hadn’t raised the alarm and that there were no others watching them. None that he could sense anyways.

“Am I to take it that you are the only one on guard duty this night?” he asked.

“No,” she replied, “There is no guard any longer. I was merely,” she looked to the side in a manner that suggested she was lying, “Returning from an evening walk.”

“This late?” he nearly laughed at her but decided to drop it, “Why the lax security?”

“Once you were defeated there were very few threats to Yamanouchi,” Yori explained, “Sentry duty now ends at midnight. Now it is almost dawn,” she pointed and he saw that indeed, the sun was beginning to rise over the mountaintops.

“So what were you doing up if not as a watchman?” he asked.

She colored, “I,” she fumbled, “I simply could not sleep,” it wasn’t a total lie, “So I was meditating when I sensed a disturbance. I never expected that disturbance to be you.”

“So I’ve realized,” he parried, “But what am I to do now?” he inquired, “Dawn approaches, and I have nowhere to go.”

Yori looked nervous, “I will have to speak with Sensei on the matter,” she bit her lip, “But for now you are welcome to rest in my room. Come,” and nimbly she leapt away.

She brought him to a room, Spartan in decoration, but then he supposed he expected nothing less from a ninja’s abode. Their lives were shrouded in mystery, those who worked within the shadows, getting their hands dirty. It was theoretically a short life, and thus there was no time for sentimentality or attachment to meaningless objects.

The door slid open again and Monkey Fist realized that in the time he’d been contemplating the life of a ninja Yori had gone and returned, hopefully with a positive answer.

“Well?” he asked as he turned to face her.

“Sensei is…” she paused, “Old, and more and more he has been trusting me with the duties involving Yamanouchi. He says that if this is what I feel is right, then you are welcome to stay as long as you need,” his countenance lit up at the notion he would have a place to stay, and really: it was the least they could do after settling his affairs when he wasn’t even dead. Then again, he allowed that they really had no way of knowing any different.

Yori’s tacked on, “However,” gave him pause. Of course there was a catch. There _always_ was.

“However?” he repeated.

“While you are here you are my responsibility. Anything you do reflects back on me. So I ask you, for the sake of my honor, _attempt_ to behave yourself.”

“And by behave you mean?”

“No raiding our archives, no thievery, nothing to implicate your villainous alignment. As a matter of fact, I would prefer if you do not even allude to the Mystical Monkey Power, much less use it.”

Monkey Fist frowned at her, “You seem to be under the impression that I am… what was it you used to call him? Ah yes, _Stoppable-san_ ,” he spat at her, “Why, besides the obvious, do you wish for me to act in such a way, if I’m allowed to ask.”

“It has been ten years,” she said as if that explained anything to him, “Many of the students that are here were either not students or very young when you were most active. They do not remember you, but they will be mistrusting of a foreigner as it is. If they find you are a villain it will be a cause for alarm that is not needed. Sensei will already be watching you, so you are aware. Besides, I thought you might take the chance to…” she bit her lip, trying to find a word that expressed her emotion without sounding like something ridiculous to suggest, “Reinvent yourself, as it were.”

“Reinvent?” he scoffed at her, “You want me to turn over a new leaf? Become a hero?” he sneered, “I am none of those things, and I cannot change who I am to fit that mold.”

“Then while you are in these walls can you not act the part at least?” she tossed the bitter request at him. There was a moment where neither of them said anything. At last, she let out a sigh and ran a hand through her locks, which had only grown with time, “If you cannot do something as simple as that then you are free to leave. But the outside world has no place for you any longer. At least here,” she stopped a moment, looking at the floor space between them, “You have an opportunity that is not guaranteed out there. I never considered you a stupid man, but your decision may just change my mind.”

Monkey Fist observed her a moment. At last he said, “You pity me.”

“I pity what you have become. Whatever that may be now,” Yori corrected, “But I do know that whatever it is it is not good, as you yourself have said it goes against your very nature.”

The monkey master let out a sigh, “I really don’t have a choice, do I?” his tone was blank, voice hollow with realization.

“You always have a choice, they simply might not always be desirable.”

He looked around, “Am I to stay here or will I get my own room?”

“If you give us a reason to trust you that much, you may,” Yori allowed, “But for now you will stay with me.”

“And what’s to keep me from sneaking out and being villainous while you sleep?” he asked her.

Yori stared straight into his eyes, “I tell you now that I have gone nearly a decade without a night’s sleep. I am still standing, and still strong. You will not do evil this night, not as long as you reside in my chambers.”

His mouth nearly dropped open in shock. Ten years without sleep. A lesser person would have, no, she _should_ have died from exhaustion at this point; or at the very least looked haggard. But neither of those things was the case and so he was left in silent awe of her, though he would never admit it aloud.

“Lay down,” she instructed. During his silence she had laid out a futon and bed dressings, “It is late, the sun will soon rise and you will need rest for the day ahead.”

He didn’t have the energy to argue with her, not after all the –he almost felt nauseated at the thought- kindness she was showing him, especially when she had more than enough reason not to. The blanket was drawn back. He slipped between the covers and laid his head against the lone pillow. Even from his vantage point he could see as she settled herself into a full lotus position and closed her eyes, expression becoming impassive as she tried to drift into a plane of semi-unawareness. Traditionally it would take him hours to settle after moving to a new place. But after everything that had happened earlier he felt drained. Sleep came all too easily.

KP

The first thing he was aware of when his mind retuned to the waking world was that there was sun on his face. His already closed eyes squinted shut, trying to block the light out. The second thing he was aware of was the distant ringing of a bell, signaling to all the start of a new day at the school. The third and final thing was a rather odd weight on his chest. Nothing uncomfortable, but not anything that really should have been there.

Dreading every motion Monkey Fist opened his eyes and glanced down to see a head full of glossy black hair curled into him. The sound of even breathing disturbed the otherwise quiet air. Yori, she must have fallen asleep at some point. But why had she decided to use _him_ as a pillow? Logic kicked in and reminded him that in all likelihood the futon was in the position as it always was and that she was probably half-asleep when she had moved. Her body would have been on autopilot, and mistook him for what she was supposed to rest on.

This supposition was further cemented when with a start she woke and jolted. She looked around, a dazed and confused expression on her face as she tried to realize what had happened between when she had lost consciousness and now. Her eyes widened and her cheeks reddened when she realized what position they were in. Yori squeaked with embarrassment, compounded when she registered the sound of the bell.

“Oh no,” she muttered to herself and was off like a shot. Halfway out of her garb before she remembered she wasn’t alone.

She stood there, arms still in the sleeves of her top, white material that was likely her bra peeking out of him and he was still too nonplussed to think straight.

“Um,” she said, “If you wouldn’t mind…” she trailed off.

And suddenly he remembered his sense of British propriety, “Of course,” he replied quickly, unsure if he should just close his eyes or vacate the room altogether. Deciding not to alert anyone else in the school to his presence just yet he closed his eyes, sat up, and turned his back to her. He heard the rustling of cloth as she changed into a clean uniform. When it stopped he figured it was safe to turn around.

“Might I find a change of clothes myself?” he asked her.

“Indeed,” Yori answered, “Wait here, I’ll be right back with it.”

In a few moments she had gone and returned with a black Gi roughly his size. Her back was turned as he changed and was glad. How long had he been stuck in the dirt? Oh yes, ten years and somehow it showed. He’d need a bath later. But first, food.

“Are we to train first or get breakfast?” Monkey Fist asked.

Yori giggled at him, a light airy sound that shouldn’t have sounded as good as it did, “We do both here at Yamanouchi. Come,” she took him by the hand and they both froze, “I mean, right this way,” she gestured to the door and they filed out.

Out in the yard there were students practicing their arts, and a line of others that stood before a food worker. He noticed as he and Yori joined the line that the worker, like everyone else, was trained in combat and evasion. If he wanted to eat, he would have to prove himself. Though a bit rusty after all the time spent as a statue, muscle memory was a wonderful thing and he was able to procure his own meal without too much difficulty.

Yori had quickly eaten her fill and then readied the students for their morning instruction. She doled out tasks and arranged sparring matches and eventually left the students to their own devices. Monkey Fist watched on as he ate, noticing more than a few things the children –for that’s what they all _were_ , really- were doing wrong. It may not have been his place to correct them, but his inner perfectionist in the art of Tai Shing Pek Kwar simply wouldn’t let these pups get away with defiling the sacred martial art.

“Your stance is off,” he came up behind one of them, scaring them as they were off their guard when they shouldn’t have been. He continued regardless, “And it’s affecting your balance. Come,” he gestured for the student to come closer despite their wary expression, “Come, I’m not going to harm you. Quite the contrary.”

That seemed to gain the student’s caution, but they came anyways. Monkey Fist instructed them to perform the move as usual and then physically corrected where needed, adding advice on how to picture the stance in their mind. The student performed the move again, this time taking in the Monkey Master’s corrections and utilizing them and found to their astonishment that they had done the move better than any time previous. They let out an astounded cry of delight.

Upon hearing that the Monkey Lord gained a whole new group of students, each of them asking about their stance and advice on how to improve their techniques. This was the scene Yori returned to: Monkey Fist moving through the positions of moves, breaking them down to their basic components and instructing the students like a true sensei would.

“Perfect each motion of the move before you attempt to bring it all together,” he said in the tone that one used when lecturing in an instructional, and not disappointed, way, “Perfecting the movements helps to understand the motion of the full move, as well as allowing you to be fully aware of your surroundings, and leaves very little window for mistakes or openings your enemies can use against you.”

He slid to another motion and the students copied. Yori was astounded, she had hoped that with time he might put all his knowledge to good use here at Yamanouchi. But so quickly as this? She hadn’t dared.

“He is adjusting fairly quickly,” said a voice from behind her.

“Sensei?” she replied, looking at the wizened old man. He had always been old, ever since _she_ had been a child. How old he truly was no one knew, but he seemed to be of the mind that his time on this earth would be coming closer and closer. He had been giving her more and more duties to take on, and was trusting her to head the school once he passed on. It was truly an honor: to be the first female head of Yamanouchi. She wondered what he thought of all this.

“I had not thought an enemy could change, but he has already begun,” Sensei stroked his beard ponderously as he spoke.

“You truly think so?” Yori asked, to reaffirm rather than question his opinions, “Do we even know how he came back? There has never been any record of the Yono letting someone go.”

“There is a first time for everything,” he told her, “And his was not the first time in my life I have seen the Yono unearthed. It seems every generation has someone willing to sell their soul for power. But that is neither here nor there. Remember Yori, Monkey Fist is and will continue to remain your responsibility until such time as he can be deemed otherwise. It reflects on both of you what he does.”

“Of course Sensei,” Yori bowed, “I will not disappoint you.”

“Then go forth child,” he dismissed her, watching as she wandered out into the yard.

KP

In this fashion continued two weeks. Monkey Fist would come into the yard and teach the students, helping them correct problem areas. He truly did make a good teacher Yori had to admit. But, that didn’t exempt him from a _little_ bit of teasing.

“May I ask what you’re doing?” his nerves fired off fight or flight response as the voice teasing along his ear. Monkey Fist kept his calm, and the frame, thankfully enough.

“I am doing what this school seems to be sorely lacking: and _teaching_ ,” he responded curtly.

She raised a combative brow at his words. There was a hushed murmur that went through the crowd as they watched their former teacher and their current one have a battle of wits.

“I have taught these students all I know,” was Yori’s parry.

“Clearly,” He snorted, “Not that you know much, and doesn’t it show in them?”

“You speak poisoned, but petty words,” Yori retorted, “Care to test that theory on the field of battle?”

He smirked, “It would be _your_ honor,” he affirmed in a mockery of what she used to say when she was young.

She blinked slowly, then an energized smile stretched its way across her face, “Very well then, let’s spar.”

They circled around each other, neither of them making the first move. The students had circled around them, watching on with interest. Whispered bets were being made. Their sensei, or the newcomer. Who would win? Most of the stances were taken in pride of gender, though there were some dissenters to this norm. Who did eventually make the first move, they couldn’t tell but the show was well worth the cost of not caring. Kicks, punches, lunges, flips. A graceful dance only the two of them seemed to know the moves of. Yori had pulled out her Tessen, spinning them around in her hands before flinging them open. He went after her, she dodged as nimbly as anything. Backflips, cartwheels, round offs, high jumps. Onto the roofs, a balancing act. A mid-air split as he brought his fists down. The students watched in awe. They landed back on the ground, still ducking and dodging and weaving and chopping, punching, kicking. There was no clear winner, they eventually seemed to wear themselves down. Then again, neither of them were as young as they used to be, and their stamina had drained in years of inactivity compared to this level.

Bets became null because of this. The ninja and the monkey man stood panting, sloppy, haphazard fighting stances in place, eyes still locked on the other. A moment of silence, and then raucous applause burst out. The ninjas in training had never seen such an exemplary use of the skills they were being taught. From his position Sensei smiled under his beard. He had proven himself, and the others had now accepted him. How fragile this acceptance was was something only time could tell.

KP

Towels were drenched with sweat as they cooled down. Battling was quite a workout, and both of them had forgotten that. Monkey Fist, for his part, felt absolutely disgusting. He couldn’t remember ever breaking a sweat like this before. Of course, before he had been able to keep up with his training, and for a first battle after so long stuck he was glad to see he hadn’t done too poorly for himself. The students had seemed in awe after all.

“How long,” he huffed, still trying to catch his breath, “Are the lessons going to last today?”

“Lessons today?” Yori panted back, “They will go on until sunset. But why the need to know?”

“I wish to use the facilities,” Monkey Fist replied, “I need to wash up. That battle took more out of me than I would have hoped.”

“Oh,” Yori nodded in new understanding, “Perhaps, if you can stand it until nightfall, I can show you someplace that might be of more use.”

His gaze narrowed at her, but he conceded. Sharing a bathing chamber with youths spanning from pre to pubescent was _not_ his idea of fun. And as such he had been frequenting them at odd hours when no one was supposed to be awake. How hard she made that when they often found themselves too close at night.

When night had nearly fallen, they set out. Yori lithely leapt through the trees, Monkey Fist easily keeping pace with her. She led him to a secluded spot, a hidden waterfall and pool that only she seemed to know about. He stuck a toe into the water. Cool, as he expected from a mountain waterfall, but also, warm.

“How?” he asked, without really meaning to.

“There is a volcanic line that runs near the surface under this pool,” Yori explained, “The waterfall brings cool water from higher up on the mountain, while the magma line warms it up. I discovered it some years ago and find it quite soothing to soak in after a long day.”

“And you expect me to what?”

“Enjoy the water and wash yourself. That is what you wanted was it not?”

He stared at her, trying to figure out how to go about this. But, much to his surprise, she turned her back to him and began disrobing. British prudishness rearing its deep-seated head he exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

Yori stopped, not the least bit bashful as she had been that morning. Over the shoulder of her opened Gi she glanced at him, “Washing up from our battle. I had thought that was obvious.”

“You’re going to wash up, with me?” he was having a hard time cognizing that fact.

“It seems a bit redundant to return simply to come back here,” Yori let the top slip to the ground.

“So you’re suddenly willing to share a bath with me?” he simply couldn’t believe it.

“Monkey Fist,” she began, then she sighed, “We are both adults. Surely this is nothing new to you? You who are so enthralled with our culture as you are?”

He was more than familiar with the concept of hot springs and the coed baths that often laid within. That didn’t mean he was prepared to share a bath with a former enemy. But she had a point: they were already here, and it was a bit ridiculous for one of them to go back simply to return later. And the water called to him.

He sighed through his nose, “Very well,”

“You are feeling uncomfortable,” Yori noticed, “Why?”

“It’s just,” he hated that he sounded like a schoolboy, “You’re undressing in front of me.”

Yori’s eyes widened, as though she herself had just realized what she was doing. Her cheeks bloomed pink and quickly darkened to red. Hastily she grabbed up her top and held it against her chest as she faced him, “Oh!” she was on her way to turning puce, “I’m sorry, I did not, I mean… I hope you wouldn’t think that I… I’ve been coming here on my own to bathe for years now, you see,” she offered lamely, a pitiful explanation but it was all she had.

He thankfully seemed to understand, “I get it, you’re used to doing things a certain way here, muscle memory and all that. It’s just, can we… not do this in front of each other?”

“Certainly,” Yori agreed nearly before he finished speaking, eager as he to rid the air of the awkwardness that now filled it, “There are some bushes, and some trees, over in that direction,” she pointed behind him, “I will go this way.”

They separated, far enough not to see anything, but close enough to hear if the other needed help, as unlikely as that was. Monkey Fist focused his attention on removing his own clothing. By the time he’d gotten only half undressed he heard the splashing of the water as it lapped against the edges. Yori had obviously finished and had slipped in. How long was she likely to stay under? Not very long, he was going to take his chances. He finished with his clothes and hopped in himself. After the jarring sting of the top layer of water came sweet, warm relief. The pool itself wasn’t too deep, but it went far enough to fully submerge oneself if they wanted to.

The need for air caused his lungs to burn. Monkey Fist surfaced and breathed deeply. He swam to an edge and relaxed against it. She had been right to take him here, this was just was he needed. There came a bubbling from a short distance away and then Yori rose out of the water, like she had pushed off the bottom to propel her upwards. A split second, no more, but he saw it. The flash of flesh, he shook his head. It was just flesh, he was acting like a fool.

It wasn’t as though Monkey Fist didn’t understand biological attraction, the so-called animalistic urge of mating, reproducing. He understood sexual attraction, he just never had any use for it. Lust was a weakness that could be exploited. He understood the beauty of the human form, even though he preferred simian forms for their dexterity and other capabilities. But he had studied art as a scholar, had seen paintings and portraits and sculptures and frescos. Nudes, men, women, he saw the beauty in the line, the pleasing aesthetic quality demonstrated by a human in their most natural state. But, he deemed himself higher than such baseness ascribed to attraction. And yet, the mere millisecond of his former enemy’s most natural state had his heart racing palpitations. He could only thank heavens there were no stirrings elsewhere.

“Monkey Fist?” while he had been busy mentally berating himself; she, compelled by his silence and worried, had approached. Touching his cheek drew him back to the present, and back to everything he was trying to forget, “Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” his voice came out sounding more strangled than he would have liked.

Clearly wanting to say more but refraining out of respect for him she drew her hand away, though her fingers flexed: an outward manifestation of her emotions.

They washed and swam and washed some more. When he at last had had enough he went to climb out and begin the drying process. He was only halfway out when he heard the ninja gasp and felt warm fingers against his back.

“Monkey Fist,” she struggled to speak, “Your back,”

“What of it?” his voice was terse, but it was more due to her touch than anything else.

“It, it has the mark of the Yono on it.”

Of course, there was no way he should have been granted his freedom without a price. If that’s what all this was.

“What do you think it means?” he asked as he stood turned away from her.

“I do not know,” she answered truthfully, “But I suppose the Yono could have transferred all his power to you and left for the Spirit Realm. That is the only explanation I can think of.”

Once upon a time he would have leapt for joy at such news. But this was a punishment, just like everything else. What did it matter that he had all the power in the world? He knew from the legends the Yono was essentially powerless without a contractor. If he went looking hard enough he could find someone, but that left another weakness. It was truly difficult finding someone strong enough to defend themselves when the Yamanouchi came –and they would- to stop them both.

He laughed though, not the deranged, simian like laugh he had once laughed, but a bitter, broken sound. So in line with his luck to have phenomenal powers and no capacity with which to utilize them. The sound of moving water not from the falls caught his attention and he turned in time to see Yori hoisting herself out of the water. There was no shame in the way she moved, no attempt at embarrassed modesty. She knew what she was, how she looked, and she accepted all of it. She moved towards him, eyes never straying from his own, preventing the both of them from looking somewhere untoward.

A hand on his shoulder, her face close to his, “What do you make of that?” she asked him, voice barely above a whisper.

“The world has already moved on without me when I finally have the power to make myself immortal. Poetic irony is what I make of it.”

She giggled at that, even though he hadn’t really been trying for humor.

“Do you ever see yourself changing?”

“Ten years ago I would have laughed in your face,” he admitted, “But seeing how everything has already changed I feel it would be foolish to swim against the tide.”

KP

They sat back to back, still drying off, simply talking.

“What else has changed while I was away?”

“Stoppable-san has had quite a life, though we have rarely needed assistance in the years following your final defeat.”

“Still afraid of monkeys I’m assuming?”

“A bit, but he has been making great strides toward understanding that the animal is very much a part of his destiny, a part of his being. Of course, Stoppable-san has been helping him.”

“The Han?”

“No, not little Han. His wife, Stoppable-san.”

“Let me take one guess as to who _that_ might be…”

“You need not guess, you already know the answer.”

“I’m surprised. As long as I knew him he always seemed spineless and cowardly. Proposing to the savior of the free world multiple times over must have taken some guts.”

“I was told it went well, and the ceremony was beautiful. It was my first time at a Western wedding.”

“Really?”

“Though they are becoming more and more popular here in Japan, I have not had the opportunity to go to one. Ninjas rarely marry due to the very nature of our lives. And those of us that do prefer to stick to more traditional means.”

“No time for romance, more’s the pity.”

“I think there is great honor in dedicating oneself to their passion. It was the one thing I respected of you all those years ago,” Yori admitted.

“You respected me for that?”

“I wished it had not taken you down the path it did, but yes. I respected your dedication to your craft, your cause.”

He felt more than heard her rise to her feet, the slide of her back against his own as she got up. He turned and saw her bathed in moonlight as she walked to her clothing. Before she could bend to retrieve it he said her name.

“Yori,” one word. One small word. And yet within it a multitude of depths. Yori turned to him. Her eyes were wide, luminous. Caught in some spell they met together. A brush of lips, soft, brief, fleeting. They knew they shouldn’t have been, this truce was too new, too fragile. He was her responsibility. His actions reflected on them both. This was not the responsible way to keep an eye on him. He was supposed to be above such things.

But none of it mattered. Something that had been smoldering, probably longer than either of them would ever readily admit, ignited. Neither would deny that there had been some chemistry, their personalities had been complementary, but the divide of enemies and his own determination to stand on his own had put a lid on any fantasies either of them might have held. No longer. This bout left them more winded than earlier, but they both had the sense to stop before another bath was needed.

The next morning brought tenseness that lingered in the air. They tried to avoid it, tried to avoid each other, but the close quarters of the school, of their jobs wouldn’t allow for it. Everyone felt the static in the air. Saw how it seemed to spark the most when they were in the general vicinity of each other. The younger ones couldn’t quite figure it out, and thus naively assumed they had gotten into a fight, presumably over who had won their battled the day before. It was frustrating for everyone, and Yori knew they had to take it out of the school. That night she roused him, it was late, but as her eyes glimmered in the darkness he knew what she was asking. He followed her out.

“What was that yesterday?” he asked her when they reached the safe haven of the pool.

“I do not know,” Yori admitted, “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“How would I know?” he asked her, “Power has been my only desire for so long,”

“But you kissed me,” Yori pointed out.

“You kissed me!” Monkey Fist threw back at her.

“We kissed each other,” Yori concluded for the both of them, “Now what?”

“Hoping for a repeat?” he couldn’t help but tease her.

“Should we?” she argued, “We are, were enemies. We should feel nothing but enmity for each other. And yet, when we kissed, I felt something…”

“Don’t tell me you think yourself in love after one kiss,” Monkey Fist scoffed at her.

“No, it is not love. It was not then either,” she answered. There was a pause as she tried to sort out exactly what emotion had coursed through her at their contact, “It was… it was, relief.”

“Relief?” he echoed.

“I was, glad to find you here, to feel and touch and know you really were there in front of me. Not some spirit haunting my dreams,” Yori told him.

“Oddly enough,” Monkey Fist replied, “I think I felt the same way.”

“You did?” her eyes were wide, with what emotion, he couldn’t discern.

“I felt, alive, and here, and whole,” he said, “After so long in death’s cold and clinging embrace, I felt the warmth of life.”

“But what do we do?” Yori returned them to their original dilemma.

The quiet sounds of the forest took control of their conversation. Neither of them knew what to say. They stood close, but apart, and yet no words could come. Hands rose, pressed palm to palm. It wasn’t enough. Seeking confirmation, connection, they embraced. Breaths mingled, bodies surged closer until there was nearly no point of them that did not connect to each other. They couldn’t control this, whatever it was, it was something they knew was needed. Something neither could do without.

KP

This continued on for months. While Monkey Fist slowly but surely gained the trust of those around him, the nights were filled with deception. Always by the pool they met. Clothes were shed, and the air would fill with more than the sounds of the forest at dark. Sighs, kisses, the sounds of satisfaction. But it never went too far. Pleasure was a strange mistress, often found where one least expected it. They found pleasure in each other, in the touch of skin against skin: the reaffirmation that he was indeed here, present in this moment with her. Their embraces were perhaps sensual, yet not inherently sexual. That wasn’t what this was about: the glide of hands as they mapped the lines of life across arms, shoulders, ribs, navel. But the temptation to go further was always lingering as they lay next to each other, utterly bared. Yori could not without a promise of more, and Monkey Fist could never ask her to be his wife.

Sometimes there was silence, the silence of contemplation of exactly what their relationship was followed these rendezvous. Other times the sound of conversation as he would hold her close and she heard the steady beating of his heart beneath her ear.

“And what of Fukushima?” he had asked one night. After that disastrous attempt on the Lotus Blade he’d never seen nor heard of or from the boy again.

“In the mountains we have very little connection with the outside world, especially when it comes to traitors,” Yori had replied, “All the same we received a letter from him a few years ago. He appears to be doing well, as well as he can. He lives as a hermit in Aokigahara.”

“The forest of death?” Monkey Fist couldn’t believe it.

Yori nodded, and he felt her hair brush against the skin of his torso, “According to his missive he went there to commit seppuku, but he stumbled upon the sight of a body already in the process of decay, and for some reason it brought him peace. He knew he was not the first to dishonor someone and that he likely would not be the last. At the same time, he recognized some of the other bodies were those of people quite young and found himself horrified. He has connected with the forest, and now lives as the guardian, trying to help those who wander into its depths.”

“How morbidly fitting, he’s a pre-suicide counselor?”

“I believe he thinks it his way of atonement,” Yori replied, “Many people, especially during entrance exam season, feel that if they cannot get into a school for whatever reason, then they have dishonored their family.”

“Death before dishonor,” Monkey Fist added.

“Indeed,” Yori agreed, “So Fukushima finds them before they can kill themselves and asks why they are here. Many times it is that exact reason I told you about, and he asks if they tried to the best of their ability to get in. They always say yes, and he says that there is always going to be someone better than them somewhere in the world, but that they should never stop trying. There is honor in accepting defeat gracefully. He guides them and sends them home. He has saved many lives doing this. And in return we have given him our forgiveness, though he will never be welcomed back.”

“Sounds as if he doesn’t need this place anymore anyways,”

“Precisely,”

The air grew awkward after that, and so the both of them returned separately to their rooms. Next morning brought rain, but at Yamanouchi there was always something to be done. Yori was sweeping the floor of the temple when she heard Sensei.

“I know what you are doing,” he told her.

Yori stiffened but played coy, “I am sweeping the floor of the temple as you instructed Sensei, what else would I be doing?”

“You know that was not what I was referring to,” he gave her one of those glances, the one that said he could see right through her, “You are an adult now, and more than capable of making your own choices. That does not mean I cannot worry about you though, especially when it seems you are setting yourself up for nothing more than heartbreak.”

“Heartbreak?” she tilted her head to the side, “I am not sure I understand.”

“We have given him more freedom, but his nature is a restless one. Even with the power of the Yono keeping him grounded, he will still wish for freedom. He will one day leave. And how will you handle what comes?”

“You have often told us to embrace change, because it leads to growth,” Yori replied, “Whatever happens, even if it ends up hurting me, I will grow from it and be better than I was before. Even if such growth involves pain, I will accept what comes.”

There was a storm that night, that kept them at the school. It did not stop them from meeting. She lay against his chest on his futon, much like she would if they were out there. His breathing was even, though he was not asleep. Though, it would be all too easily like this: the comfortable warmth and the constant pitter-patter of raindrops as they beat against the ground.

There was something on his mind, she could tell there was. A soft, contemplative kind of quiet he only got when he was thinking something through. She waited, he would likely tell her, but she would not pry either way.

“Yori,” he began, then stopped.

“Yes?” was her soft-spoken response. He still did not answer her, “What is it?”

“I have to leave,”

She rolled over, raising herself until she hovered slightly above him, still touching, “What is it that calls you?”

“My castle,” he responded, “My home, I want it back.”

“You will retrieve an empty castle only to die there,” she said, without malice, without jealousy, as plainly as it could be stated, “But if you truly wish to go then I do not have the power to stop you.”

He knew what she meant. They did not have a relationship, not in any sense of the word that he could think of. They were not friends, they were not family, and though the closest definition –the most obvious one were a third party to know of their activities- was lovers, they were not even that. She was quite good at feigning impassivity, but he could tell something about it hurt. Hell, he hurt a little _leaving_ , but he knew that he would never truly belong here. He would always be the outsider, no matter what he did.

“How should I go about explaining my absence, and the fact that you told them I was dead?” he responded with instead.

“The mountains are known for being quite dangerous, the villages established quite remote,” she almost sounded as though she were in a trance, the way she was talking, “And during the rainy seasons mudslides are known to occur among other natural disasters. One can lose everything in one of them. You could easily say that you were caught in one, it relieved you of your identification, and you had been injured to the point of amnesia. With the villages so remote they would not know if anyone was looking for you. You only recalled when you went to Tokyo for a visit. And so you returned home as quickly as you could.”

“That is quite an interesting spin to put on it, but it should work. Clever girl,” he praised, but his voice was hollow as he stared at her, never straying from her eyes.

“Domo,” she replied. The storm went on, they did not.

KP

They had put together a farewell party for him. A sentimental gesture the old him would have both scoffed and laughed at, and not necessarily in that order. But now, he wasn’t sure what to think. There had been some worry among him, Yori and Sensei that he would not be able to leave at all, considering his status change. But legends persisted that the temple was tied to the Yono, not the other way round. The students presented him with heartfelt gifts to express their gratitude, put on mock fights: demonstrating all he had taught them, even made him banana bread for the trip.

Sensei had been making a speech, never losing a moment for teaching life lessons. Was he finished yet? He had lost track. Ah, no he was, as he turned to the Monkey Man and bowed.

“Montgomery Fiske,” he said using the man’s real name, “You will always be welcome here at the Yamanouchi school.”

“Indeed,” Yori echoed as she bowed too. She handed him a scroll, nothing ancient, but something to remember his time here by, the closeness allowed her to whisper, “Will you ever return?”

“I do not know,” he responded truthfully, “You could come with me,” he offered.

She smiled in melancholy and shook her head, “You know I cannot. I have duties here which call me.”

“As my home calls me,”

“Safe travels Monkey Fist,” then, in front of everyone, she kissed him. Nothing gauche, just a kiss on the cheek: indicative of familiarity, of fondness. But he saw past that to the truth, and that was that this was her final goodbye.

“Sayonara,” he whispered back.

With everything ready he loaded up and made his way down the mountain. Back to civilization, back to Europe, back to his castle, back home. But how empty it would be once he returned, was a thought he refused to dwell on.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism always welcomed. Hope you enjoyed!


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